I haven't taken a breath yet, and I've already seen the girl making rounds without auxiliary wheels - from here it's impossible to stop.

• Illustration: Ze'ev Engelmayer

1 The day I learned to ride a bike I remember as one of my childhood's most traumatic days. I fell over and over again, blood flowing from my knees, and in a very uncharacteristic way, my dad screamed at me like a sergeant in the Marines: "Stop crying and get back on the chair! We won't go home until you succeed! See how these kids laugh at you!". In a big way, this is one of the days that best explains why becoming an adult is a bit problematic.

Maybe that could also explain why I did everything I could to avoid the one mission I was assigned this week: to teach Naama to ride without auxiliary wheels. I did all the evasive maneuvers I know (and over the years I was pretty much into the subject), but in the end, I took a breath and realized that it was one of those moments when I had to be a father. It was in the 90th minute, of course, the day before a tour of the seat that we had arranged with some friends. They all ride two wheels already, which is an age where it is not pleasant to be exceptional.

I was preparing for the event as if I was going to learn to ride. I got on the sports clothes I bought for the approaching summer, did some stretching (after all, I would probably have to run with her back bent for hours) and looked in the mirror, assuring myself that I would make amends for the awful childhood experience by being compassionate and patient with her girl's expected failures. I will admit that for a moment I also thought about outsourcing - there must be someone available to do it much better than me - but no, learning to ride a bike is something that kids remember, and it's Dad's. I set out for the yard.

Catharsis. I haven't had enough of a last breath of courage yet, and I've already had the chance to see my girl turn after turn on two wheels, as if some dad had dropped out of the sky and endured all my grueling workouts.

"Naama, how did you manage to ride alone so fast?"

"I took a momentum."

I kept looking at her riding. If she didn't look so happy, I'd be wrong to think she's been riding without auxiliary wheels for months. Where is it and where is my childhood trauma, and it is still without a drop of help from me and the new sports clothes I bought. It is probably true that our children are much more talented than we are.

Suddenly I saw the new helmet we had bought on the grass. I stopped her and put her on her, glad I found something I could do anyway.

Now my girl knows how to ride. Today she rides in our yard, tomorrow she will ride around the seat, and the next day who knows. And outside are cars, kids on electric bikes and even smaller kids on an ATV.

As a child, I lived on a special Haifa street that ended up in the mountain, and we would ride our bikes for hours with almost no danger. Once an hour a bus would come to do the round, and on the road would scatter us to the sidewalks, and that's it. Electric Bicycle? The coolest of us would put a plastic cup in the back to make them motorcycle noise, but it seems to me that the kids today are challenging the speed of the drivers' response on the road is just a new breed.

I thought about all this and turned to my partner. I told her that maybe in the meantime Naama would ride a bike just next to us. She smiled understandingly, but she told me what I already knew: this wheel movement can no longer be stopped. Now Naama is also stepping into our jungle of traffic. Have it successfully.

2 This week, Naama caught us on a hot bed, watching a life challenge program, and she had quite a few questions. Dad, why did she say she was a boy? Why didn't the cops help her? Why do they like Hapoel Tel Aviv?

Of course, I too was left with more questions than answers after watching so I couldn't help it too much, so I just said everything was as if it was just a show of the big ones. She bought it in the meantime, but I won't be able to hold on to the lie for long, at the end of it she will realize that other groups can be loved except Maccabi Haifa.

Most often I am less attached to this TV genre that represents a life challenge, but everyone at work threw the names of Shai Benbanishi, Yam Avitan and Lorin Michaeli this week, and I felt a little bit like the office girls feel every day when we talk about Ambapa, De Briana and Gareth Bale.

First of all, like everyone else, I was very impressed with the abilities of the impostors, who maintain such an intricate system of connections, each of which is a world full of its own. Where do they have these inexhaustible amounts of energy? And how do they remember all the lies?

Especially, Lorin, of course, who, beyond the psychic and cluttered world she built as Shai Benbanishi, managed to operate a house plus three children. Really ridicules all of my fatherhood steam.

I really enjoyed these two programs, which were broadcast week after week, but I don't expect to see this anymore, mainly because I have a feeling that the interactions between the characters there are a little more complex than what we are shown on screen, and also that for cheap manipulations, which I can't stand, I already had two children.

These programs also affect me a little too much. Suddenly everyone around me looks like an impostor, and in general, this week, Oded's kindergarten teacher asked us to send our family photo indoors, and the thoughts in my head immediately started running: How am I supposed to tidy up the house to make it look natural? From what angle am I supposed to be filming the kids, that it looks trustworthy that they are mine?

Add to life another challenge a week, and I plant Photoshop with the head of the Avitan Sea on my body (shouldn't he be picking some kind of campaign, according to genre rules?). And really, the man has already suffered enough.

In short, I enjoyed it very much, it was very pleasant to express my opinion on the subject while I waited with my colleagues for the water in my kitchen to boil, but as a woman a moment after the World Cup finals, I retire. There was peace, Shai Benbanishi, and thanks for the fruit basket from the beginning of the relationship.

shishabat@israelhayom.co.il

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